No Price Too High (24 page)

“Thank you.” She kept her voice as formal. “Father, I shall retire now to prepare myself. I shall see you—”

“Retire to where?” His eyes slitted, drilling into her.

“My rooms, Father. I am grateful that I have not suffered a moment in a prison cell, but have been well-treated here.” She looked at Gabriel. Why didn't he say something to her?

When his gaze met hers, she nearly recoiled. She never had seen such fury in his eyes, not even when Abd al Qadir had slipped through his trap. She wanted to ask why he was furious. He had sent the ransom request to her father. Had he thought that Father would leave her here? The tears filled her eyes again. Mayhap he had hoped, as she had, that they never would have to come to this moment when they must become enemies once more.

Karim Pasa bent and picked up the
tcharchaf
that had fallen from her fingers. Offering it to her, he said nothing. She understood and wrapped it around her father's cloak. She nearly stifled beneath the layers of wool, but the heavy veils covered the
Franj
symbol that was so abhorrent to those within this walls.

“Melisande …”

She looked at her father. “I shall speak with you soon.”

Melisande followed Karim Pasa as she had so many times before. Again the uncertainty surrounded her. She longed to look back and see some emotion other than anger in Gabriel's eyes. She wanted his arms around her. She did not want to tell him farewell.

As Karim Pasa closed the door to Gabriel's rooms, she started to ask a question. He silenced her and opened the door to the
mabeyin
. Bowing to her, he said, “Milady, Lady Lysias wishes to speak with you immediately.”

It no longer surprised her that, in spite of being confined within the walls of the
harim
, Lysias knew everything that was happening within the stronghold. Mayhap Lysias could give her some answers as to why Gabriel was acting as he was.

Melisande went into her rooms just as Lysias was coming in from the garden. Again she wondered how Gabriel's mother knew so much of what was happening. Mayhap Gabriel had alerted her, but that made no sense. Too many questions surrounded her, bothering her like flies on a hot day, but there was only one she wanted to find an answer to: How could she leave Gabriel and her heart behind to go with her father?

“So it is true.” Lysias gasped. “The
Franj
are within our walls.”

“Do not fear.” Melisande took her hands and led her to a chair. “They are not enemies. My father leads them.”

“Your father?” All color drained from her face.

“Karim Pasa, get something for Lysias to drink.”

He poured some cooled water from a ewer and handed it to Melisande. Holding it up to Lysias's lips, she smiled when Lysias mumbled that she did not need help to do something as simple as drink and took the goblet.

Sitting back on her heels by Lysias's chair, Melisande sucked in a deep breath. She had not guessed she could smile now.

When Lysias asked a question in Arabic and Karim Pasa answered in the same language, Melisande bristled. “Why are you hiding your words from me?”

“I wished to know—”

For the first time, Melisande interrupted her. “You wish to know how my father received me and how I welcomed him.” She stood and shrugged off the
tcharchaf
. Tossing her father's cloak atop it on the floor, she ignored their disquiet as the Hospitallers' cross glared in the sunlight. “You, who have been my dear friends … you, who told me I could always depend on you … you do not trust me.”

“We trust you,” Lysias said, heaving herself to her feet. She turned her back on the cloak. “We trust you to do what you know you must.”

She flinched at the words that echoed her father's. Since she had arrived at
Mukhdarr
, she had awaited this day when her father would come to ransom her. Now she wished it never had arrived. She was not sure what she should do or say, but knew that, when the two men she loved faced each other as enemies, a single mistake could be catastrophic.

Kalinin sat by the foot of the bed. “Melisande, you have looked at every bit of clothing. There must be something you can wear.”

“Nothing that will not upset my father.”

“Why does it matter so much?” She took a fig from a bowl Karim Pasa had brought, then held out the bowl to Lysias. “Once you wrap your
tcharchaf
around you, no one will see what you wear.”

“I cannot wear the
tcharchaf
. That would be certain to cause trouble.” She tapped her finger against her chin. “The clothing I wore when I arrived—”

“But those
Franj
clothes were destroyed long ago,” Lysias rejoined.

“Father was so distressed to see me dressed in the clothes I wear here.”

“As you were when you first wore them,” she reminded her. “He should come to understand, as you did, that you have done what you needed to.”

“I do not think he can. He sees only that I am robed as not even a harlot would be in England.”

“It matters not whether he can accept what you wear,” Lysias observed wryly. “Your choice is this or nothing. I know he would not approve of
that
.”

Reaching into another box, she pulled out a night tunic. “Mayhap, if you were to wear this over your clothes, he would not be so dismayed.”

Slipping it over her head, Melisande was not sure if this would make the situation better or worse. The fabric did cover her bare arms and abdomen, but its very sheerness suggested a sensuality that might add to her father's disgust. If he were to learn it was a garment worn at night, he was sure to be outraged. Yet she saw no other choice, save to go naked as Lysias had jokingly suggested.

“Why did your father come here?” Kalinin asked.

Surprised, Melisande faced her. As this long day had passed, leaving her curious about what was being said between Gabriel and her father, that was one question she had not asked herself. “He would not have left me here once he knew where I was.”

“You are the
ikbal
. He should be proud of you.”

“If he finds that out, he will be shamed among his men.”

“But—”

Lysias put her hand on Kalinin's arm. “Do not argue about what you know nothing of. Haven't you learned from Melisande that the ways of the
Franj
are beyond our understanding? What honors Melisande here might truly be a cause for dishonor among the
Franj
.”

“I do know,” Kalinin said, surging to her feet, “that he should not have come here. Melisande was learning to be happy here. Now, look at her. She looks ready to weep.”

“I will not weep,” Melisande said, raising her chin because she was not sure if she were being honest. Tears burned in her eyes as they waited to fall.

“If the tears are of joy, you should release them.” Lysias folded Melisande's hands in hers. “If they are tears of grief, you must never let them fall.”

“They are both.” She picked up a comb and ran it through her hair. “I want Gabriel to come through that door and tell me what is happening out there, but I dread what he will say.”

As if her words could work a spell, the door from the
mabeyin
came open. Karim Pasa bowed in the doorway. “Milady, your presence is requested.”

“Gabriel,” she gasped, dropping the comb on a table. Mayhap now she would understand, if nothing else, the astonishment on Gabriel's face when she had greeted her father.

“The
shaykh
asks that you join him and his guests for this evening's meal.”

“Oh.” She squared her shoulders as she had again and again during the day when the weight of her fears had pressed down on them. Her lips refused to tilt upward. “Thank you, Karim Pasa.”

Lysias was not so circumspect. “A moment, Karim Pasa. What have you heard of how the
shaykh
received the earl and the other
Franj
?”

Melisande was not sure whether to be pleased or to sink into despair that Lysias had spoken in Frankish so that Karim Pasa would use the same when he replied.

“The earl and his men have been offered stabling for their horses for the night as well as rooms for themselves,” he said.

“For a single night only?” Melisande asked.

“That is how I have heard it ordered by the
shaykh
, milady.”

“That is good.” Kissing Melisande's cheek, Lysias murmured, “I know you shall be returned to us for this night.”

Melisande looked from Kalinin's cheeks, suddenly wet with tears, to Lysias's strained smile to Karim Pasa's blank face. They all believed she would be leaving before the sun set again.

She
would
be leaving, although she could not bear the thought of saying farewell to these dear friends … and Gabriel. A sob erupted from her middle, but she refused to let it past her lips.

“Milady, your presence is requested,” Karim Pasa repeated. The words that once had brought fear and then the anticipation of joy now sent sorrow careening through her.

Drawing her
yashmak
over her face, Melisande walked out into the
mabeyin
. She kept her gaze on the pattern of tiles along the floor as Karim Pasa opened the door to Gabriel's rooms. Only when he opened the door to the chambers beyond did she raise her eyes.

She was the daughter of the Earl of Heathwyre. The blood of princes ran through her. She was a Hospitaller, a warrior who dared to face danger to satisfy her vow. No hint of fear must reveal the pain ripping apart her heart as she imagined leaving this place, never to return.

In spite of herself, when a shadow along the floor congealed into human form, she could not keep her breath from catching. She had seen Gabriel wear these elegant robes of purple and red only once before. Then, in the tent, she had not known if he would be her ally or her foe. She had been drawn to his handsome, chiseled strength, but could not have guessed how her heart would long to be his.

As she walked toward him, he turned to face her, his motions as light as a desert breeze. His face was etched with wary lines. She saw once more the man who had earned the name
Renard du Vent
from his enemies. She wondered, for the first time, how he had gained such a fearsome reputation when he was trying to halt the hill bandits.

She paused in front of him at the door to the banqueting hall. He lifted her hand to his lips. The merest touch of his mouth pulsated within her, freeing her longing to be in his arms.

“Milady, you are welcome among us this evening,” he said in a voice that rolled through the room. Under his breath as he offered his hand so she might place hers atop it while he escorted her to the table, he whispered, “You look lovely,
az-Zahra
, and far too tempting in that tunic that I had hoped only my eyes would see.”

“It is the best compromise I could manage. If my father is angry about what I wear, he may be unwilling to heed anything else.” Without pausing, she said, “What has my father said to you about—?”

“Not now,
az-Zahra
. We will speak later. Alone.”

She wanted to melt in the heat of his gaze as his words promised that talking was not all he wanted to do with her tonight. It took all her strength to keep walking by his side as if they spoke of nothing of import.

When her father stepped forward, pride swelled through her. He, like Gabriel, was dressed in his finest. The russet wool of his surplice was the color his hair had been in her earliest memories.

Gabriel placed her hand on her father's. “Milord.”

“Thank you,
shaykh
.” He stepped between her and Gabriel. With a curse, he tore the
yashmak
away. He threw it on the floor and ground it beneath his boot.

Melisande gasped, “Father, we are within this house. We should not insult their customs.”

“I will not have my daughter look like an infidel whore.” He grasped her chin and tilted her head. “You have let them mutilate your ears.”

She winced, for her ears were still tender despite Karim Pasa's skilled work. “I thought the ear hoops to be pretty, Father.” That, once more, was the truth; but she could not reveal to her father how she had accepted the title of
ikbal
along with these earrings.

“Remove them.”

She reached up to loosen them, then lowered her hands. This could not continue, or she would be left naked. “Father, no lady undresses in the presence of so many men.”

“I want them gone before we leave this accursed place. Gold has no value when it is infidel gold. Worse, the gold of a man who has turned his back on his father's ways.” Tugging on her hand, he said, “This way, Melisande.”

Again she did not dare to look back. Her father's blatant insults were not aimed at her, but at Gabriel. The iciness between Gabriel and her father had not thawed. If either of them could look past their differences, they would find they were much the same—strong-willed, loyal, and worthy of the trust of those who served them. She wanted to beg her father to listen to what she had discovered about Gabriel—how he had to make the difficult choice, as his father had before him, between the ways of the
Franj
and the ways of these hills; how he had honored his own father's obligations with the zeal of any English liege.

Her father paused by some pillows that had been set by one end of the low table. Motioning for her to sit, he knelt beside her. His companions sat nearby. When more entered the room, dressed as Gabriel was, the older man's fingers twitched at his side and she knew he wished he could pull his sword and put an end to this. As she had before, she put her hand on his arm. He shook it off as Gabriel brought his men to sit across from them.

Melisande breathed a sigh of relief. She had feared that Gabriel's men would claim one end of the long table while the earl insisted on sitting at the other. Her relief lasted only a heartbeat when, at the same time, Lord Vaudrey sat on her left and Gabriel selected the place directly across from her.